


The Curse of the Exile

by GoldenDelicious



Category: Original Work
Genre: Awkward Romance, F/F, Foot Fetish, Light Smut, Lots of Watersports, POV Second Person, Plot, Watersports, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-06
Updated: 2016-05-18
Packaged: 2018-06-06 16:40:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6761935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenDelicious/pseuds/GoldenDelicious
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The shame was so much a part of you that to give it up is to feel naked. Although in the years you've lived with the curse you've learned to manage, you dream only of living a normal life. You are certain that to get rid of the shame, you need to lift the curse, you need a normal bladder, a normal life. Showing anybody would only serve to disgrace you further...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Solitude

**Author's Note:**

> This story is more for me than anything else. It's something that's been rattling around in my mind that I felt the need to get out of my head. The whole thing is undoubtedly an oddity that I worry might be a little too risqué, even though it's relatively tame.
> 
> I feel the need to reiterate that this work has a heavy amount of watersports in it. If you find that remotely unappealing, this is not for you. Also, I prefer to use anatomical words, (e.g. labia, clitoral hood, urethra) instead of slang, (e.g. pussy, cock, boobs). I don't think it bothers most people, but it's uncommon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early on in the work, I had not intended to publish, so the writing is a little rough. It gets better later in the chapter, I promise.

You remember the last time you cried. It was a lifetime ago it feels, that young carefree girl was dead. You're here instead. It seems unfair and cruel, and you curse the monster that did this to you.

In a trance you feel the distant ache of your body. You ignore it and hold your position. The glade around you falls away but your concern does not. You know that your muscles will remind you of this tomorrow. You focus on emptying your mind and holding your pose. Hanging from a branch, you hear the loud splashes of your urine falling uninhibited from your vulva and your resolve is renewed.

You continue your exercise, you need to be strong; nobody was going to help a skinny little bitch from the woods, they'll walk all over you. For several moons, when you weren't hunting, or scouting, or working, you were training. You found the one you were after. You knew it was her but you couldn't confront her empty handed. An axe or a little hunting knife was of no use, you would need something better, and magical. You did not have this yourself, and better doesn't come cheap. But luckily you aren't actually penniless. You've learned to be good with your hands. Needlework, woodworking, hunting. All of it necessary out here by yourself. You didn't have nothing, you had the whole woods to yourself. You learned how to make things of use, you learned how to smoke out bees and collect their honey; you learned how to skin and make furs, and how to sew those furs together. But most important of all, you learned how to hide your condition, for a short time at least.

The ever-present noise of your urine was second nature now, but you longed for a day when it was not so. How so many things would be easier, hunting without giving yourself away, sleeping, being among people. You dreamt of that, living in a village, or a town. You dreamt of finding your family, though you don't know if you would be able to. It frustrates you to no end at night as you toss and turn in your hammock, your urine making the occasional splash and trickle in the night. You dream of your revenge, and when its done, you dream of peeing on her as she dies, to remind her of the life she took from you.

* * *

Your father sharpened his axe in front of the house as you carried a pale of water inside. The winter was melting away, and during midday one did not need a layer of fur outside. You poured the water into a pot to boil and left it for your sister, going outside out with the pretence of fetching more. When you came to the stream suitably far away, you set down the pale, and got up on top of a large boulder on the side of the stream. You don't know why you enjoyed this, but it seemed fun and thrilling and the thought of getting caught gave you chills sometimes. You pulled off your pants and crouched low and looked back toward the house as your stream begin its trickle down your flesh. Soon it had enough force behind it that it arced upwards almost to eye level.

You were actually somewhat good at this, if that's something you could be good at. You know your sister makes a bigger mess than you, at least, she can't aim it in a direction like you can. You were so caught up in the action, that you failed to notice the presence of another individual on the other side of the stream. It began to move away when you saw it. Too far into your act, you couldn't stop now until it was done, so you drop a knee and try to at least hide yourself from whatever it was.

The old crone lets out a raucous cackle, as she pauses on the bank of the other side of the stream. She was hideous, gigantic nose, unkempt and unwashed hair, dirty ragged clothing and an eye covered by a diseased looking bandage. When her laughter stopped, you thought you saw her teeth until you realized she might not have any. “What kind of naughty little girl enjoys such a lewd act?” she asked, loudly.

You trembled. You've never seen this person before, not anything like her. If you weren't already peeing, you might have wet yourself out of fear. You wanted to run away, your clothes and pale and urine be damned, but before you could make your move, she made hers. Reaching into her tattered robe she opens a parcel and pulls out a handful of red powder. “You looked like you were having fun, please don't let me stop you…” she said with a very unsettling laugh. She raised the handful of powder up high, “… in fact, don't let anything stop you.” She held out the other hand, and you saw it was missing an index finger. She clapped her hands together, and a cloud of red dust filled the air around her silhouette.

She laughed harder and as the dust cleared you saw she had begun walking away. You had gathered your clothes and pale and were already running away, the urine running down your legs as you went. You gave one last glance to where the crone was, disappearing up a trail. After a minute or so running towards the village, you pause as you come up to a rock. Strangely, you were still peeing yourself, so you set your things down and lean against the rock and wait for it to finish. You look around this time and make sure nobody is watching you.

Your heart was racing. You were thoroughly frightened by whoever that was, and you wonder what she meant with the dust. Your bladder still feels full however, and after a minute or so, your stream shows no sign of lessening, you feel no relief from your bladder. Still, it took a few more minutes for you to realize what was actually happening. You began to panic. You push trying to pee harder, and you succeed only in flooding the ground you stand in. As it begins to sink in, your heart drops. You know who the old crone is now. She's the reason these woods are what they are, untouched. The tears run down your cheek as you weep from both ends of your body.

* * *

It still hurts to remember your struggles, but the more you think on it, the more you are driven to do what you need to do. You've learned to manage in hindsight, you grew strong.

You let your legs down, resting the muscles in your stomach, and drop to the ground softly, careful not to slip in the mud. You walk over to your pack and grab your skin of water. You take a drink and then kneel in the grass, as you pull out a piece of dried venison to snack on. The wind blows and you enjoy the early autumn breeze. You're in your silence stance. Kneeling on the ground like this, you pee directly onto your ankles, and it runs directly onto the ground; not only does it not make noise, you've learned that animals have a harder time smelling it too, as long as they're not downhill from you.

Hunting has been the hardest thing to learn. There's deer and hares and foxes in the wood, but for several years, you could never seem to find them. Not like your father. He took you hunting once, before you left. He tried to teach you the patience of a hunter, but in the end, it was you who tested his. After your second sister was born, he tried taking the next oldest, though your little sister had even less interest in it than you did. It wasn't the first time he tried to teach you how to survive either. He wanted a son and all he got was daughters, so he tried to make a son out of you. You wondered if he would be proud of you, or at least the parts there were to be proud about. If it weren't for all his efforts, you might not even be alive. You think he might be happy that despite all his pain, some of it managed to sink in.

You grab your pack and head out. The sun was directly overhead, and you had a handful of chores to finish. Tomorrow was the hunt, and the next was to head into town. Your hair was getting longer and you needed to fix that. At the edge of the glade, you step into a small stream and wash the mud off your feet, and you put on moccasins that you kept in the pack. The moccasins were a small act of defiance in a way; a feeble attempt at civility when the civility had been torn away from you so forcefully. Today your feet weren't totally repulsive, but most days they were. With your condition, your feet were rarely dry outside your cabin, and that did not do good for their appearance. After so long though, you were used to having wet feet, and were a master of never slipping.

You wore a small vest of leather and a belt of furs around your waist. The furs were your own, the leather bought from the village and worked by you. As you trek up the slope of the mountain, you think back to when you bought the leather. You weren't always able to buy things, you were so afraid of what others would think of you that you dare not show your face to anyone.

* * *

You didn't return home that day, you hoped beyond hope that you would soon cease peeing, but it proved to be in vain. You slept nearby on the first night, on a rock leaned up against another while covering your torso in your trousers. The smell of your urine once was the sign of a playful jaunt, but now it only served to loosen the tears even more. Your eyes wouldn't stop crying and it didn't take long before you were sitting in a puddle of your own urine. You barely slept at all, but when you woke, the sun was barely beginning to rise and you had fallen to the side in your shallow puddle. You rub your eyes cleaning away the crusty tears of the night before. You were covered in your urine, from head to foot, and clothes too. You were exhausted, but as you sit up, you realize you were still peeing. It was real, you were really cursed by a witch.

On the first day, you stayed in the woods nearby your house, and watched your family. For three days they looked for you, chasing into the woods calling your name, but you did not answer. You wanted to, but you felt the shame of yourself. For days you loitered in the woods behind your family's house, trying to summon the courage to face them. But on the fifth night, when you began to feel weak with hunger, you sneaked up to steal some rope from your family's porch, wanting this to be over. When you got close enough, however, you instead found outside on the stump a small lantern, lit. Next to it, was a leather pack. You look at it and know that they have hope that you haven't died. You walk up to it, in distant view of the cabin. When nobody stirred inside, you opened the pack and found a half loaf of bread. You took the lamp and the pack, and left the pale on the stump in their place.

For whatever reason, you couldn't find it in yourself to take anything else from your family. Instead, you would sneak up on the outskirts of villages and steal things from the houses that lived far enough out. It was small at first; food, knives, an axe, some clothes. But only after a few weeks did you start getting desperate. You stole from the village daily, just to survive, to live. When the food got scarce, you resorted to stealing animals. You imagine what would have happened if you had ever gotten caught. You were always thin, but in in those days, you were sickened by the sight of your own wiry body.

After long, you had a den near a stream, where you kept all your stolen things. You found a nearby farm that grew corn, and you would sneak through and gather a weeks supply or so. Now that you had free time, you were able to work on your trapping. It turned out to be easy enough once you learned to look out for skunks. You were glad your father taught you that at least. You learned how to build shelter, and your den got better. You learned how to make a hammock, and you slept better.

Once the winter came, the furs proved to be your most valuable possession. It was a rough winter, and you cursed your bladder to no end. Once the corn was gone, you braved the shorter crops until they were gone too. You thought about planting your own, but gave up when you realized you didn't know the first thing about farming.

You travelled to another village, in an effort not to get caught. You knew of one on the other side of the mountains and hiked your way over. Sewing proved to be more useful than you thought at first. The pack you had was not equipped to handle all the things you wished to take with you, but you were able to add pockets, loops and pouches to it that proved to be prudent. You left behind only scraps, and managed your way over, camping every so often, and eating what little food you could take with you. This forest had been your home for your whole life, you at least knew what you couldn't eat along the way. But hiking through the snowy winter proved to be quite dangerous, and near the end you found yourself going without supper at night.

The other village was smaller. You made camp near a stream, half a day's hike from the village just to be safe. You managed for the rest of the winter, off of stolen potatoes and nearly nothing else. And the next year seemed to be much the same. In the mean time you learned to fish.

You had a plan, however. You found a stole a very valuable hide of raw leather from the village. You planned to work it into trousers, and it didn't take long for you to steal the rest of what you needed to make it happen. You took some boots, and lined them with leather, sewing the leather up into one piece as little booties for a pair of very baggy trousers that fit you high up to your waist. You worked it with as few seams as you could manage, taring and searing them to make them watertight. The boots were slightly too big for you, but with your new trousers on, your feet fit into them alright. The top of the trousers, had a drawstring belt that you could secure tightly around your waist. To your amazement, it worked as you intended.

It was early autumn as you approached the village. Hiding behind a tree, you slip into your new trousers and tie the string tight. You cover yourself in a small fur cloak and tie your hair back. You brought your pack with you, filled with a handful of small furs and the odd stolen good from the first village. You were able to walk amongst people. Some stared at you, likely knowing you for an outsider, but you were happy that the stares did not come from your condition. Selling your goods, however proved harder than you hoped it would be. Nobody seemed to want furs. The village had hunters already, and they were not lacking for warm clothing. You could not seem to sell to anyone, and few seemed interested in talking to you, except a man who seemed too interested in talking to you. Once he started asking you questions about yourself, you ran off. You managed to find a fat baker in the village who was willing to trade a loaf of bread for a dozen furs. You were hungry, and were forced to take the bargain, even though you knew that that was a terrible deal. Once you got back far enough into the wood to be sure you weren't followed, you found a stream and untied the trousers, unleashing a small wave of urine into it; the stream surged.

Later attempts to sell things went just as poorly, even after trekking back to the first village. It wasn't until you saw another merchant haggling lower prices did you begin to work out how to handle yourself. You later assumed his identity in a way, cutting your hair to be like his, trying to lower your voice like his, and most importantly, using your words sparingly. It seemed to work, though not everybody was fooled. In fact, once you were found out, it was not long before you developed a reputation. But that was only in one village. After yet another year, you were bold enough travel even farther. And the more places you visited, the easier it was to make a living. After two years or so, you worked out a yearly rotation. You got taller, and with that, the ruse came more easily.

* * *

You reached the cabin, walking up to the side and placing your pack on a weathered wooden stool. You take a deep breath, and listen to the birds. The feeling of urine running down your legs hardly registers anymore, you're so used to it. You grab your knife and line and head out into the forest to collect from your traps.

You collected from your traps a rare sable, overjoyed, knowing this will go a long way in paying for what you need. The rest of your chores go by in a humdrum fashion: fixing a leak in floor of your cabin, cutting your hair in the reflection of the pool nearby, and fixing your fishing rod. When the sky was dark out, you went inside and started a fire in your fireplace, beginning a stew. You had a few potatoes left and some venison remaining, and since you only had two nights before heading into town, you might as well feast before it rots. As you cook, your urine frolics down your legs to the floor of your cabin, where it trickles down between vertical slats of wood, and down the gentle slope into the nearby brook. It was a lot of work getting that wood, bringing up the mountainside several boards that were sawed at a sawmill.

After supper, you put the fire out, leaving the warm embers in their place. Next to the heat of the fireplace you string up your hammock, a mesh of small hempen rope. You climb in, ready for the sleep and the work of tomorrow. Even though it was summer, nights on the mountain still got fairly chilly. You wrap your legs with a blanket of furs, sure to keep them elevated, and roll on your side. With the soft splashing of your urine hitting the floor, you ease off to sleep.

When you awoke, the embers were out, and dawn was beginning to break. Stripping the furs and stepping out of the hammock, you wander to the door and look outside. The sky is clear above the trees, and you hear the sounds of the birds crying out to their mothers for food. You quickly put on your moccasins, vest, and belt and grab your hunting gear: a bow made from foreign wood and sinew, and some short arrows. You pad your way to a small glen and arrive as the sun begins to rise. You place yourself carefully, able to see up the valley for a short ways, and you wait. Your urine running off your ankles and into the short grass, and eventually down the small cliff behind you, which falls away and you can see further out to the nearby village. You like this spot because the deer are numerous enough and you have something beautiful to look at while you wait for them.

It was hours before you spotted your first doe of the day, but she was too far away to hit. Shortly after, you were able to loose an arrow after a young buck, but you hit him a little too far back and had to chase your kill down as he struggled to get away. It was a mess, and he spoiled a few spots of his hide, but you wouldn't complain. The rest of the day was spent hauling him back up to your cabin, cleaning and stripping him, and packing up all the food and supplies for the trip tomorrow. You plan to leave a good portion in your cabin while your gone to dry. When darkness falls, you start a fire again and reheat your stew, trying to finish what's left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way I write, it's as if I'm telling myself a story. I have an idea of where I want things to go, conflicts to happen, etc. and I just write.


	2. The Woodsman and the Moon

The next morning, you're ready to go. You have everything you need packed up, and you simply dress and began your descent down the mountain after hanging the strips of venison in your cabin. It takes three days to get to the town by road, but it takes you four days to get there through the forest. As you journey, you reflect on the merchant's deal. You've never been to Lagra Mesa before, but if you want the charm, you had to go. You need magical protection, but unfortunately only witchcraft can protect you against witchcraft, and witchcraft is very forbidden in these parts. The townspeople will burn anyone at the stake whom they suspected to be practising witchcraft, and so your merchant refused to bring what you need. Instead he helped you arrange a meeting with someone who could, but of course he wouldn't do it without getting paid first.

His name was West, and though he knew that you weren't really a man, you felt that you could trust him as long as he got paid. You were to get into town and go to the Diamond tavern at sunset in four weeks' time, and find a man with an indigo feather. You are to ask him “What's to the West?” to which he is to respond “Everything you need.” West is certainly full of himself, but you paid him and waited the four weeks. Now that you've arrived at the town, you're early enough to start selling and make a little more money in case you need to bargain.

In the wooded outskirts of the village you got dressed. Your outfit was much improved since you first started hocking your wares. Your leather trousers remain and the boots too, but you replaced the rags you wore with a more respectable cloth shirt, a nicer fur cloak that wasn't so big and ragged as the first one you made, and a small unassuming hat. In colder weather it you blend right in, but this time of year it's just warm enough for you to look a little out of place. On looks alone, you passed well enough for a man, but what gives you away is the voice. When you're not selling, you try not to speak, but if you have to, it's soft and low. When you are selling, it's a little harder, but you just try to be pushy, the act is more in the attitude than the performance.

Getting into Lagra Mesa was just fine, no one pays you any mind, but selling is not so simple. Unlike the villages you were used to, there is a market, inside of which swarms more people than you've ever seen in one place in your whole life. Here there are people dressed far fancier than you have ever seen, in dazzling robes of many colours. It's a far cry from the simple tattered clothing of the farming villages you're used to. There are stalls where merchant's displayed their wares and customers wander between them at their leisure. Beyond the market are many buildings and the like, but the more you thought about it, the more you think that door to door selling here would not be as welcome as the villages. Walking into the market, you look around at the stalls, and as far as you could tell, they were all taken.

You see a fruit vendor, with treats of various shapes and colours the likes of which you have not seen before. Captivated, you purchase one small orange fruit he calls a tangerine and ask him how to eat it. He laughs and tells you to peel it. It turns out you quite like tangerines, and you ate it sparingly, as wander through the stalls looking for one that is open. As you go, you see some vendors are crying their wares and some aren't, and this makes you feel better about being quiet. At the end of the of a row, you manage to find an open stall that's just a table. You jump at the chance and follow the example of the others. Unpacking your bag, you quickly place everything you have for sale out on the tabletop and wait. There's not so much room, but it manages to fit everything you brought: a few jars of honey, a few furs of foxes and hares, fur blankets, pelts of deer, and dried venison, and in the back closest to you, the sable pelt.

You were nervous just taking a stall like this, but nobody told you to leave and very quickly you started selling your wares at far better prices than you expected. The honey sold out quickly, and the blankets were next. A few people asked you about the sable fur, but almost none seemed to know what it was. It wasn't even an hour when a tired looking man with a tired looking helper in tow made an offer on it. Though he wasn't dressed terribly, it took you long enough to realize he wasn't buying it for himself, but instead whomever he worked for. Taking a risk, you were firm with your price, and after minor complaint, he agreed to pay it. “I must return with the money. I trust you will not sell it while I'm gone?” he asks.

You did not like that idea. Your trousers were nearly full and you needed to pack up and take care of it before it came spilling out. But the money promised to you from the fur might be all that you needed. You weren't sure how much these charms would cost, but considering the risk of burning at the stake, you don't imagine it would be cheap. “I will be leaving soon, can you meet me at the end of the market?” you ask, looking up at the sky. “I will be there at exactly noon.”

He grumbles his agreement and walks off, and you hurry to pack up your remaining things. One deer hide, a few of the furs and some dried venison were left, which made the return trip a little easier. As you leave the market yourself, you realize there's going to be no safe place in the city for you to drain your trousers without anyone seeing. You make for the exit and keep your head low as you pass the city walls guarded by men inside metal. One of them looks at you funny, and scowls at you under his metal hat. You walk between travellers for a while until reaching the first woods where you duck behind and disappear into the brush. When you could no longer see the road, you knelt down and undid your trousers spilling out all the collected urine. It doesn't take long, and you pull them back up and fasten them again and head out of the brush.

As you spy the road you catch a glimpse of a young woman on the edge of the woods, following after you. She was dressed in a fine robe of a bright blue hue and had her soft copper hair loose and blowing in the breeze. On the edge of a forest, her loose robe and sandals made her seem ill prepared to step inside, perhaps she's thinking the same as she pauses on the border of the tree-line. “Are you looking for something?” you ask her as she spots you emerging from the brush. She does not exactly seem happy to see you, and on second glance her robes appear roughed up, her hair in her face.

She gives you an appraising look, “I was looking for you,” she says. “You're not from Lagra Mesa, and you looked like an inquisitor.” You didn't know what an inquisitor was; you're just surprised she was following you, and glad she has her doubts about going into the woods. “You're not are you?” She sounds on the verge of tears.

“No.”

She looks at you suspiciously, and you both wait in the awkward silence. Unsure what to do next, you turn from her and begin to head back toward the road. “Wait,” she says. “Are you going back to town?”

You stop and look at her. She was thin and lithe, shorter than you by not much, though likely a little older. “Yes.”

“Why?” She looks confused, “You're not leaving?”

You shake your head. “Not yet, I have something I need to get first.” You look up at the sun and realize you have little time to waste.

“Where will you go?” She seems to be in a hurry herself, but her questions were getting a little to personal.

“Home,” is all you say. Once you get the charms, you're going right back to the Witching Woods to find it's eponymous inhabitant. After another silence, you turn and walk back toward the road, and she follows.

She wasn't done with the questions. “What is it you need?”

You think on what to say for a moment, or whether to even say anything. “Protection.”

Now that your trousers are mostly empty, you can set a good pace, but she keeps up with you as you near the city entrance again. “Would a strong man like you be willing to protect me?” You stop when you hear that, and she halts behind you. Now that you knew she intended to follow you, you have to discourage this as soon as possible.

You turn to face her with a smile. Despite her intentions, the fact that you had her fooled was satisfying. “I'm flattered,” you say politely, in your normal speaking voice, “but I'm afraid I'm not a man.” You remove your hat, and watch the look of surprise wash over her, her cheeks turn rosy red, and her eyes widen in mild alarm.

Her expression turns to one of interest and perhaps even mild relief. She studies your face, the soft curves, your pale green eyes. You knew the hat did wonders for the disguise. “You're a woman,” she says almost laughing. That upset you a little. You put the hat back on and continue on your way. “Wait, let me go with you, wherever it is. I need to leave this city.” She sounds desperate.

You walk on. That absolutely won't do, and as much as it pains you, you now have to resort to being rude to get her to leave you alone. You approach the entrance to the city as the guard who gave you the queer look earlier points at you. Two others stop you, with metal gloves in the air and a “Hey, you!” The guard who recognized you walks over, “State your business in Lagra Mesa.”

You weren't sure what to say. “I'm here to hock my wares,” you say, but the guard doesn't look pleased.

“What wares?” he asks looking at your bag, which felt very empty right now.

You were about to pull them out and show them the sable, when the young women whips up behind you. “He's with me. He's got an important parcel that the Seat needs.”

The guards stand down, “Very well counsellor. Be on your way.”

You walk inside a ways, and she follows behind you expectantly. “You cannot come with me,” you say as you spy the buyer at the end of the stalls in the market. There are markedly fewer heads around. You head over to the man and see if he has the money. When he spots you, he pulls out a coinpurse, and you remove the pack and pull out the fur. Without a word the goods are exchanged and you leave, heading in a different direction. You now had more money on you than you've ever had at once, and you wanted to find a different exit to the city to avoid the guards asking you questions again.

The young woman continues to follow you. You're beginning to think it was a mistake revealing to her your gender, wondering if perhaps that might have given her further cause to follow you. You stop and turn to face her, “Why are you still following me? Leave me alone.”

She looks past you, “I'm a counsellor of Lagra Mesa. We don't have time to explain everything here, but by evening it will be said that I betrayed this city.” She grabs your arm, “I need to leave, and I need an outsider to help me.”

“Find another one.”

She persists. “Please, I can pay you for the trouble.”

You look away from her. The money you have may be enough to buy the charms, but there was something else you had thought of getting. Still, it wasn't worth it. “It's not me who would have a problem with you, trust me.” You turn and walk away in search of another exit.

“What does that mean?” Shouts the counsellor as she follows behind you.

You round a corner and find a gate in the walls, but it appears closed. Following along the walls, you shout back at her. “It means you don't know anything about me. I don't live in the lap of luxury.”

She seems less than pleased by that. “You presume too much, sir.” She follows close behind, “If I don't leave today, my life will be in danger.” That was pretty desperate.

Stopping again, you look her in her eyes. She looks to be serious. “Where's the next gate?” you ask, but then think of a better idea. “Actually, where do you live?”

She gave another suspicious look, “Why?”

“If you come with me, you step into my life. I'm going to show you what you're in for. Where do you live?”

* * *

The building you stood in was the fanciest building you've ever seen. Most certainly it fit every definition of luxury you could imagine. As you walked into past the front entrance, your steps onto the hard marble surface made echoes across the room. The floor had intricate tiling, the walls had fine finish; there were paintings in every nook, and various other collected adornments, vases, exotic plants, even a large glass container with water and fish swimming around. You walked over to the fish, in awe of what you saw. The fish in the glass were so colourful, like nothing you imagined existed, let alone lived. The ceilings were so far away, and hanging from them were extravagant crystal ornaments. The counsellor walks in behind you as a servant closes the door.

“You live here?” you ask. It sounded stupid once you asked it.

“I live here, but it was not my riches that bought it.”

You look at her, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

She looks a little uncomfortable, “My husband is a wealthy merchant. This manse is his.” She anticipates your next question. “It is his own work I betray, he cannot help me. What is it you intend we do here?”

You look around at the immeasurable wealth around you. “Where's your latrine?”

“You mean the privy?” she says. “Follow me.”

You follow her through halls past a statue taller than you and a fountain indoors with a stone fish spitting water out into a shallow pool. You almost think to use the pool, but decide not to since there are servants around. She takes you into a room with a stone chair and chamberpot. “This isn't big enough. Where do you bathe?” She shows you to the next room over, where there is a servant washing some clothes in a small basin beside a large empty basin. Without a word from you, the counsellor bids the servant leave and the two of you are alone. “When I was little, I was cursed by a witch.” You remove the hat and cloak and step into the basin. “She saw me peeing in a stream, and cursed me,” you say, unfastening you trousers. Your heart was racing, you've never shown anyone this before, and suddenly you have second thoughts. “'Don't let me stop you,' she said, 'in fact, don't let anything stop you.'” You kneel down and let the tops of the trousers fall, a pool of urine comes pouring out. “Since that day, I haven't been able to stop.”

The counsellor’s face did not betray her emotions. You could not tell what she was thinking; you were certain she could not have expected you to dump a pool of urine out into her bathtub, surely that would be shocking. Your knees are spread, your vulva is visible, and you continue to pee into the pool already there. She blinks, and looks away. You can't afford to wait all day, so you do your best to pull your trousers back up with as little urine as possible. “Still think I'm you're only hope?” you ask, your tone one of forgiveness.

You fasten your cloak, and gather your things. Minutes pass before she says anything. “I don't know how to feel about what I just saw, but I still need your help.”

You didn't expect her to still want to go with you, but luckily you dared to plan ahead. “If that's so, then we'll need a few things first. You need a traveller’s outfit: boots, a shirt, and a pack. Go by the market and get some tangerines and any food that will keep. As for your payment for my trouble, a gun.”

She nods, “I can do that.”

You smile. “Meet me at the Diamond tavern at sundown ready to go,” you say, leaving in haste. You don't want to be anywhere near the tub when others find it.

* * *

The feather was not easy to spot. Indigo was not the color you though it was, and there were a surprising number of feathers in the place. It was dark inside and already smells like shit, even when not full. You spot a fellow you think might be your mark, literally holding a feather with a green dot on the end. He's bald, with a thick grey moustache and spectacles. He has on a black cloak and sits alone. You take a seat across from him. “What's to the West?” you ask.

“Everything you need,” he says, laying the feather down. He pulls out a small wrapped parcel. “This is what you need. Wear this and her words will be less harmful than the wind.”

You take the parcel. It was the size of your palm, and very light. “And what about the words she has already spoken?”

“For that I have nothing for you. A great deal of time would be needed, and effort too, and even then I do not know if it would be possible to lift another's curse.” You nod, and pull out your coinpurse. With a hefty jingle in the pocket, you give it to the man, without saying anything. He takes it, almost looking inside, but instead, pockets it. “I don't know what you're planning on doing with that, but I can guess. Witch-hunting is deadly dangerous, you best know how to handle yourself, for they know when you are coming. They can have the animals watch for them, and sometimes more.”

You say nothing and instead pack up the parcel and get up to leave. The man stops you just before you go, “If you do kill one... let our mutual friend know. I should be very interested in what she leaves behind.” You nod, and leave the man to himself as you head toward the door where a young woman enters. The two of you step out together.

She did alright on the preparations, she got the right kind of boots, her clothing was good for a traveller, well fitting pants and tunic. Her pack was a little small and flimsy looking, but she got food for herself, and the tangerines you asked for. When you leave the city, no one gives you any trouble, and the two of you head into the woods in the last light of day. As you walk uphill you were the first to speak. “What do I call you?”

She must be so used to following you by now. “Selena. And you?”

It's been a long time since you've given your name. Despite being known by some to be a woman, most knew you as the woodsman. “Leith.” Once you reach a good distance into the forest, you stop with Selena behind you. “We must go no further tonight. We'll camp here and leave first light tomorrow.”

“Camp here? We've barely left the city, what if they come looking for me?”

“If we don't make a fire, they won't find us in the dark.” You pull out your furs leathers and moccasins, setting them down. You remove your hat and cloak, putting them into your pack, and walk downhill past Selena to undo your trousers. They were very full, and just kneeling causes some urine to start spilling down the legs. When the knot came undone, you let the waist fall and the urine pours out in a torrent down the slope. You removed your boots and trousers and walked back up past Selena with nothing on, the noise of your urine falling noisily to the earth trailing behind you. You put on your vest, belt and moccasins, and hang your trousers on a branch to dry.

You feel her gaze as you pull out your hammock and begin to string it up. You feel very naked in front of her, despite the small amount of clothing you had on. “You live alone…” she says, like an invitation for you to fill in the details.

You tie the other end of the hammock so the middle is not far from the ground; you made less noise the lower you slept. “… in the mountains." You think she gives yo a look, but it's too dark to tell. "You wanted to leave the city.”

Selena stood watching, “And where will I sleep?”

You give a small laugh as you tighten the fastenings on the hammock. You prepared her for hiking, but not for camping. You look around at the area. It was fairly wooded, trees with limbs and dirt and the first layer of autumn leaves coat the ground. There were no rocks, and the nearby trees have rough exposed roots. “You're welcome to take my cloak and sleep wherever you find comfort,” you say at last. You were quite used to sleeping in the hammock, and weren't willing to give it up. She could do with learning to be a bit more rugged.

She comes up and takes the cloak, and looks at the hammock. “Is that big enough for two?”

You stop what you're doing and catch her gaze. “Selena, I…” you try to find a nice way to put this. This was more human contact than you were used to in years. “… I don't stop peeing, even when asleep.” Some part of you expects her to persist, the same thing she's done all day since you met her.

You could almost feel her gaze on your body, or at least you think you could. Truth be told, it was so dark, you can't really tell where she was looking. “That must be hard,” she says. “I can hardly imagine what it's like to live like you do.” That strikes a nerve with you for some reason, though it was not offensive. You don't like the idea of her knowing so much about you. “How long have you… has it been since you were cursed?”

The answer comes quick to your mind. “Seven years now.” You hear yourself, the sound of your voice sombre and solitary. You say nothing more and grab the last of the fur from your bag, climbing in to the hammock. Selena takes the hint, and you hear her walk off a little ways crunching through the leaves. The sound barely masks that of your urine crashing down on a leaf under you. You reach down as best you can to remove the leaves in favour of a quieter surface of roots, then you roll over and try to sleep.


	3. The Girl Named After the Moon

You awake at the first light of dawn to the faint peal of a bell. Its tone is low and carries through the air with a magical sort of clarity. From the city it rang somber and low, over and over. Not even the deaf would sleep through that, you think to yourself. The sky is light enough for you to see the forest around you. You sit up and find Selena perched against a stump, beginning to stir. You step out of the hammock, and go to wake her. You stand back far enough to not splash on her as you gently shake her shoulder. When she opens her eyes, she immediately hears the bell and looks up at you with concern in her voice, “It's done. We need to leave.”

You point to the hammock. “Help me pack.” You both untie and roll up the hammock and cloak, stuffing them in your pack. The sun was not yet rising as you both set off deeper into the woods. “What did you do?” you ask, unsure if you even want to know.

“It's not so easy to explain.” You walk in front setting the pace as she follows and tells you of her city. Its inhabitants are those of many origins, but there are chiefly two races of peoples. A group known as the Roran, a race hailing from the far north who were once displaced by a holy war long ago, and the Hadis, the city's oldest inhabitants with olive skin and dark curly hair. Though they live in the same city, they shared little else. Roran have their own customs, faith, and minor representation in the government. The city is ruled by the Chair, a man who's done little ruling since he lost son to the witch hunters. Selena was a Roran councilor, one of 9 members who all split the power to govern, some more effective than others.

With the recent witch-hunts, one well-loved councilman has been using fear to further his career; he's incited much hate toward the Roran population who're perceived as inherently mystical. He'd been responsible for countless executions of innocent people. Selena's husband had raised him up to power, and she had taken his life. She used his own methods against him, framing him for witchcraft. They burned him.

You're shocked to hear this. “My whole life, I would dream of living in a city, but you would have me believe people are more dangerous than the forest.”

“You've seen it yourself. You were done wrong by a stranger. Not all people are vile, but the bad apples try to spoil the bunch.”

You're unsure what that idiom meant, but you take her meaning. “That does not explain your exile.”

You reach a shallow stream and proceed to walk right through it. Selena gave pause at the bank before reluctantly following. “I gave my confession. With proof that no witchcraft was ever performed. I wanted to show the people how they've been fooled, how easily they could find themselves burning an innocent.” She pauses and lets out a breath. She speaks softly, “though he was far from an innocent, I should not have waited until he was dead, for that I am ashamed. I left my confession with the high priests of the Hadisian faith so they would find it last night. They were my best chance to getting my message to the common people without it being silenced. The bell we heard was the signal to close the gates, I have been labeled a murderer. For all I know, I've been labeled a witch too.”

You try to think of how to respond to that. “You're welcome to stick with me as long as you help out and don't mind the smell.” You were hopeful that you might have found a friend.

She gives you a cute laugh. “The smell is not so bad, I must admit, but I'm not sure how useful I can be to you.”

“You can use your hands, or learn how. Do you knew how to sew?” you ask making a leap across a small gap.

She leaps after you. “A little.”

“Cooking, cleaning, hunting, trapping, fishing, working?”

She gives you a nervous grin. “Not so much.”

“Do you know how to read?”

“Of course,” came her reply followed by a look of mild regret.

“Then you can teach me.” You have several books in your cabin; you had tried to learn how to read by yourself on several occasions, but it was perhaps too ambitious.

The sun is risen by now and you feel your belly quiver. Approaching a small rock shelf, you decide it won't be good to starve the poor girl on her first day in the wilderness. “Let us stop here for a moment.” You climb up on the rock and Selena watches you. You beckon her over, and she climbs up after you, moving around the mess you made and taking the dry spot next to you. You open her pack and pull out a pair of tangerines, handing one to her.

You peel and eat the tangerines together, feet dangling off the side of the rock shelf. “How do you know where you're going?” she asks casting away a peel.

You bite into a slice, and the tart juices burst in your mouth. “The mountains,” you say between bites, “and the sun tell me how to get where I'm going. It's flat for now, but soon we will be climbing.” You could say more, but you felt like that was all that needed saying. You look at her as she separates the last of her slices. Her hands were dainty, deft with the last peel which she throws off into the brush. Your eyes meet and she gives you a faint smile as she brings up a slice and puts it in her mouth, then looks down.

The familiar sound of your urine grows louder as a small puddle starts to grow on the ground. Where you sit, your urine blasts the rock hard enough to spray off the edge of the shelf and puddle below you. You catch Selena looking at your vulva, and she jerks her head away; you look away awkwardly too. Even after years of being bottomless, years of the ceaseless sound of your urine, you feel no less exposed in front of her.

Selena breaks the silence. “I don't pity you.” You were both finished eating, but neither of you moved. Selena's eyes were a golden brown, her skin was pale as the moon. “In many ways, you humble me.” She speaks softly, “you don't boast, but I doubt many could do what you've done in your life.” She's proven herself very capable of analyzing you. By now, you've accepted it.

“Do I seem cold to you? Cruel to abandon my husband, my city, and my people with a man's life on my hands? I dare not say that what I did was for the best, nor was it only for the right reasons. That man had the city in a stranglehold, he pulled the wool over the eyes of the people, but I admit that we had a professional rivalry.” She averts her gaze. “Know that I am shamed. I was not loved, not by the people nor my husband. It is in this way I hoped to be a martyr for my cause, giving up my unsuccessful career, my nice home, so that Lagra Mesa may see a day when it's people are no longer ruled by fear. It brings me sadness to leave, but I have the hope to return to it one day. My husband will not weep for me.”

You wish you were better at words. “You don't seem so bad.” When she doesn't immediately respond you think perhaps she was hoping for a better answer.

She turns to you. “You're ashamed of your pee, but you shouldn't be.”

You scowl. All you want to do now is leave, continue hiking and go home. Now that you have someone to talk to about it, you find yourself wishing she never knew. You dare not say that though. “I've lived the last seven years like this. I didn't feel this naked when no one was around…”

Her hand takes yours, and you share a silent look of empathy. She lets go, and takes off her pack. You watch as she lifts up her leg, and slowly removes her boot. “What are you doing?”

She places the boot aside and you see her foot up close. It was strikingly alluring, slender and tiny with pristine little toes. On a slim toe is a slender golden ring, and the nails were all a pleasant shade of blue. She begins the next boot without looking up. “I have to pee too, but it would be awkward if I went and did it discretely when you don't have that luxury.” She places that boot aside and begins fiddling with her fine belt.

You realize her intentions. Your breath pauses for a moment, your throat gets uncomfortably dry, and your mind races. You first feel confusion, followed by disbelief and a hint of endearment. Selena slides her pants all the way off, followed by a pair of very nice looking underwear. You find it amusing since there was no way that that garment was going to last long out here, and it's not like your cabin had a lot of panties lying around. She looks back toward you as she spreads her legs a little, allowing you the pleasure of studying her flesh as she has been yours.

She is remarkably more beautiful than you could ever dream to be. Your hips were somewhat wide and blocky, your thighs muscular and lean. Her hips and thighs are slim, her legs slender, her skin has a conservative collection of spots and freckles, and is rather soft looking. Between her legs there is a soft brown tuft of hair, unmanaged yet obedient, and underneath is a flowery blossom of soft pink flesh. Her vulva is much the size of your own, far from modest; yet her petite frame and tiny thighs make it seem huge. All this you see as you were invited to look. “Is this the first time you've seen another person naked?”

You used to bath with your sisters all the time, but you don't think that should count. You nod. Selena responds only by beginning to pee. It's very messy, and as it sprays more than streams, you giggle as she mentally fights to get it under control. You watch as a stream forms ans soon she's peeing with you, her urine rushing off the rock to join the already large puddle of your own beneath her feet. The splashes of her urine and your own echo together out from under the rock shelf and it makes Selena curious to see the puddle. She leans forward to see the body she's now contributing too and you think you see her eyes widen upon gazing it.

You lean forward and look yourself. The puddle was only a few inches away from yours and Selena's dangling feet, and it looked a few inches deep already, and about as wide as a few feet. While the two of you are leaning forward and peeing together she looks over at you, “Because you pee a lot, we should be able to talk about it, at least a little.” She looked back down, presumably at her reflection in your urine. Reaching her slender leg down to the surface, she dips her toes into the liquids. “Besides, I don't think it's so bad that you pee so much.” She stirs her foot around in it a little, splashing your urine around with it.

You were not expecting this. You think she might actually be enjoying herself a little too much for your liking. “What did you want to talk about?”

She lifts her foot up in the air and spreads her toes as the urine drips off of them. You find the whole act profoundly bizarre. You study her toes more, their slender and petite shape arousing a strange feeling. This foot had two rings of gold on different toes. “I don't know, now it sounds selfish. I just want to know more about you, but I'm worried… that you don't want to…”

While still peeing, she leans back and lifts up her dry foot, putting her boot on. She laces up the boot as her urine flows around the sole and down the rock. She then lowers that one and puts her boot on the other foot. She fastens the belt back around her waist with nothing to hold up, and takes her pants and underwear and quickly folds them, putting them in her pack. “I may not know what it's like to be you, but I don't want you to feel naked around me.”

You smile; for all her weird behavior just then, it actually did feel a little better knowing that she will join you in your nudity. You look at her belt, a thin strip of leather with fine detailed yet subtle embroidery. It rests comfortably on her waist under the bottom of her plain white shirt. “I like your belt.” She slowly stops peeing, then wipes her vulva with her bare hand and shakes it off. “Come on,” you say. “We need to get moving or it'll be months before we get where we're going.”

The two of you get up and head on your way, with Selena following right behind you. “Where are we going?”

“My cabin. It's near the treeline on the widows' summit…”

* * *

You spend most of the day sharing with her about your home, your woods, and your work. You tell her of the honey, the trapping, the hunting, the fishing. She gets you to talk about the cabin, and the small but failing garden you keep attempting. You found the thought of sharing all these things fairly exciting. You both stopped once more for a lunch break and separately for a bathroom break, but still made good time otherwise.

In the last sunlight, you approach the bank of a wide river. “It's best that we camp here and get up early tomorrow morning. It will be easier to ford in the light.” She does not protest and you find a nice pair of trees and unpack your hammock. She set down her pack and was pulling out her water skin and you fiddle with your hammock. Facing away from you, you find yourself stealing glances at her small tight butt. You like it for some reason.

You turn your attention to the hammock before she has the chance to catch you staring, getting it up and dumping the furs into it. You see her returning from the river with a full water skin, and your gaze settles on her bare vulva for a moment. In the last dim orange light, it looks inviting. You pick up your own skin and head over to fill it too.

When you head back, you find her rummaging through your pack to grab your cloak. You sit down on the edge of your hammock, only to have her sit down next to you. She did not weigh much, you dominated the weight of the hammock. You could see she intends to sleep with you tonight. From her display this morning and now this, you were beginning to suspect she was not repulsed by you. She catches your look as she begins untying her shoes. “It'll be a while before we could even get another hammock, might as well try to share, I think,” she says.

You had not planned on it, but decided it might be courteous to remove your moccasins too. You slip them off and tip them over, spilling out the urine collected in them. Flipping her legs over your head and briefly flashing you her opening, she positions herself on your hammock. She lay face up, covered in you cloak from neck to toe. “I'm curious how you sleep, are you mindful of peeing on the fur?”

You let out an amused chuckle. “What aren't you curious about?” you joke as you slide the furs away and lay down on your back next to her, and the two of you sink into the middle of the hammock, nearly sandwiched into each other. Selena lets out a mild shriek of surprise and you lose yourselves in soft giggles. You move quickly since you were now indirectly peeing on her. You rotate her so she faces away from you and you can interlock the legs. You end up spooning her; her hair tickles your nose, and you reach up to capture it and place it where it belongs. “It depends on the weather,” you say in answer to her question. You grab the cloak and slide it over yourself as well so it now covers both of you. “It's no problem to wash the furs. I've washed this cloak countless times.”

As soon as you say that last sentence you wish you hadn't; you had no idea why you even said it to begin with. Selena moves her head a bit. “You would just sleep peeing into it? Wouldn't that freeze?” she asks, shockingly still interested.

“Only when it's freezing. You can't really wash them when it's freezing out, so you wait for it to get warmer or you take it down the mountain.”

She was silent for a while. “Do you feel it when you're sleeping?”

It was a strikingly apt question. “I do sometimes. Almost more than when I am awake. At first it made sleeping hard, because I kept waking up, but now I rarely wake up. I still feel it though.” You feel your urine right now. It's rushing down your leg and dripping off your thigh and knee, while some of it has enough force to spray right out of your vulva, through the mesh of the hammock and onto the ground. With the nearby river, you couldn't hear your own splashes so well. You were beginning to grow used to her company. Even though she was perhaps a little older than you, she seems like a child asking an adult wondrous questions.

“Can we turn over?” she asks.

You think she knew what she was asking, but still, you want to be sure. “You want to be behind me?”

“Yes,” is all she says. You think about it.

“Okay.”

You lift the cloak and you both flip over and get comfortable. When the hammock sways to a halt, you now face the river, with an arm jovially wrapped around your chest, and her body pressed up against your back. You feel her breasts press into you, her bare hips on you butt, her legs intertwined with yours. You lay in silence as listen to her slowly go to sleep, all while you spray her legs with your warm urine.

You have a harder time sleeping than she does.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've read this far give me a comment and let me know if you enjoyed it!
> 
> Update 2017/12/4: It's been many moons since I have touched this story, and it's been long enough where I finally read it with fresh eyes. I'm quite surprised at the detail and character building I managed. In case it wasn't obvious, I have never been hunting, trapping, rarely been fishing myself, so my depiction of these activities might be quite inaccurate, perhaps I made trapping look really easy. Also the notes... I talk too much.
> 
> This story is too good to just abandon, but I do not intend to post what I had written. It devolved way too quickly into sex, and while I don't object to the subject matter being present in the story, the quality of the story, the pacing, everything suffered for it. Having reread, I think I have a better idea of where I want this to go now, and I might give it a shot in the near future.


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